


Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

by soapskin



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M, Mobster AU, Russian Roulette, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapskin/pseuds/soapskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One gun, one bullet, and two snappily dressed mobsters in a dark basement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from a movie of the same name.

  


  
The air was stale, heavy in the dark, dank room. Small beams of light filtered in through the bars of the tiny window, weakly illuminating the space. Dave kind of wished it didn't, because then he could see the cracks on the ceiling, the mold in the corners, the small creatures scuttling along the wall. The chair he was sitting on was hard on his butt and cold to the touch, no matter how long he sat on it. What shitty conditions. Certainly not fit for a Strider. But he didn't have much of a choice, did he?   
  
In front of him was a table, old, scratched, and made of some kind of cheap metal. Unfortunately for Dave, the table was bolted to the cement floor and he was chained to it, manacle tight around his wrist. Across from him, in a chair of the same lousy sort and also chained to the table, was his long-time rival and, for a lack of a better description, lover. Vriska Serket.   
  
It was kind of ridiculous. Both of them were dressed to the nines, dolled up like Barbie and Ken at a charity ballroom dance raising money for starving rhinos in Southern Asia. Dave had his signature Four Aces suit on (signature because he always performed his hits in this suit. If someone had to die, the last thing they saw might as well be a dashing Strider), and Vriska, well, he felt bad for her. She was clothed in a navy blue dress so dark it was almost black, hanging off one shoulder and flowing all the way to the ground. She had brushed her hair(!!!) and pinned it back with a crystal spider, dolled her blue, blue eyes up, and even polished her horns by the looks of it. Mighty fine, no doubt, but it had to be uncomfortable for excursions in a dirty cell in a notably violent gang's basement. To top it off, she was wearing five inch heels, which, no matter how hot it was, Dave did not appreciate after being kicked several times.   
  
He and Vriska had an odd relationship, to say the least. They bickered and snarked and then they fucked. Most would say this was hate, but this was their own dysfunctional brand of love. Making their relationship harder (the cause of it, really) was the fact that they were both top hitmen- or in this case, hitwoman- for opposing gangs. Yeah, trolls and humans didn't get along that great anyway, but their gangs- aptly named The Trolls and The Kids, what creativity. Give'em a round of applause- were constantly at each other's throats.   
  
The first time they met, Vriska had a hit on Dave. She caught him in his favorite bar, brought him to a hotel for the murder, and woke up the next morning naked and slightly hungover. They'd both whipped their guns out, then blanched impressively together when they saw their affiliation tattoos. To this day, Dave was the only one on Vriska’s hitlist that hadn’t died yet. She hated him for ruining her perfect record.   
After that, they had a habit of coming across each other rather often. The sex was good and the sparring was fun. Their gangs knew they were rivals, didn’t know they screwed. That was fine by Dave. This time, however, they were in some deep shit. Guess the fun was about to end.  
  
There was a gun on the table.  
  
It was a revolver (holy shit, Dave had said when Doc Scratch laid it on the table, those are fucking old who even uses those anymore), polished shiny and black and lying there innocently. Ha. They knew better. See, The Trolls and The Kids were rival gangs, killed each other, stole from each other, that was all fine and dandy. But the lead gang, the one that was whispered about in dark alley corners and had the city in their pocket, was The Felt. Lord fuckin’ English the great and mighty mob boss was pissed at both their groups, and Dave and Vriska were neatly captured and bundled off into an abandoned basement warehouse.   
  
The sick bastards wanted them to entertain. Doc Scratch had told them to “figure it out themselves” as he took the revolver, put one bullet into the magazine, and spun the cylinder. It had been an hour, and neither Dave nor Vriska had touched the gun.   
  
“Hm, Russian roulette. At least they didn’t make us have an all out gun war.” She cackled. “Not that this is much better.”  
  
Dave snorted. “I would have thought you’da jumped at the chance for me to die, spiderbitch. Aren’t you always saying you have all the luck?”  
  
Vriska smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Babe, we’re gambling with our lives here. You better fucking believe I have all the luck, because I’m not about to die today.”   
  
“Yeah, ok. Whatever you say. Are we actually going to sit here like old grandmas on a porch with tea and sugar and shit waiting for their grandkids to come slobbering over, or are we going to get this over with?”  
  
“Mmm… do you think if Doc Scratch came over again, we could fuck him up? Like, shoot him with the revolver or something?”  
  
“Yeah, good luck with that. Shoot 6 times and hope the bullet comes out fast enough, and then the Felt runs in and beats us so hard it’s like Little Boy dropped on our asses.”  
  
“Ugh, stop with your godawful similes already.”  
  
Both realized that there was only one way out, and only one was even getting out. This wasn’t an act of revenge, this was a warning blow. Dave knew that the survivor would be roughed up but sent back to their base for the rest of the gang to see, while the other would just have to deal with the loss. He reached forward, taking hold of the gun, noticing Vriska automatically tense up. For a revolver it was nice, a .44 Magnum. The metal was cool in this hand, fingers slipping easily around the handle. Vriska was glaring, wary. Dave smirked, amused at her jumpiness. He didn’t doubt that if he tried to shoot her now, she’d be able to dodge.  
  
He brought the gun up to his temple. The lip of the barrel dug felt cold, even through his hair. He realized, a little unhappily, that his hand was shaking. Striders didn’t show their nervousness. He concentrated, and the shaking stopped. Dave wondered if anyone would miss him. Probably only his closest friends, he reflected. Egbert definitely would. They were best bros. Lalonde too, and Harley. Dirk would probably hole himself up a few days. When his brother got sad, only Jake could get him out of his room. Dave only ever really associated with the Alphas and Betas of the gang. The rest of The Kids probably wouldn’t remember him after a week. Deaths were common.   
  
“Wait.” Vriska’s words broke him out of his thoughts. Her face was unreadable, but she crooked her finger, beckoning him closer. Dave leaned over across the table, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him. It started soft, just a gentle meeting of lips, but with them, it never stayed that way. Dave swiped at her bottom lip, and Vriska opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. She suckled on his tongue and then bit it, prompting him to nip at her back. She smelled sweet, some kind of flowery perfume shit, but it was nice. The kiss grew rougher, teeth clicking as they fought for domination. Dave was the one who pulled back when Vriska’s sharp incisor cut his lip. She looked smug, his blood bright red against her blue lipstick, and she licked it off with a vicious smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.   
  
“Might as well have one thing you enjoy before you die, right?”  
  
“Thanks spiderbitch, you sure know how to make a guy feel better.”  
  
Dave raised the gun back up to his head, steeling himself. He was prepared to die at any time in this line of work, but he hadn’t thought this would be the way he’d go. He closed his eyes- not that it made a difference, with his shades and all- settled his finger on the trigger, and pulled.  
 _  
Click.  
_  
The cylinder spun, lining up with another chamber. This one was empty. He was still alive. Opening his eyes and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Dave rested the gun back on the table. Surprisingly, Vriska picked it up immediately.  
  
“No point in dragging this out, right? I’m just going to get this over with.”  
  
Dave smiled, and parodied her earlier words. “Wait.” She looked at him, then brightened in understanding. God, but she was beautiful, even in a filthy cell. They kissed again, this time a little slower but just as passionate. When they parted, Vriska lifted the gun to her temple, as Dave did. However, she didn’t close her eyes.  
 _  
Click._  
  
The gun clattered on the table as she dropped it, sagging back in her chair a little. She had a good poker face, he had to admit. It was his turn again, and he wondered if he was going to die this time. This time, there were no words. They just met in the middle, kissing with a little more desperation- with every pull of the trigger, the probability of the bullet being in the next chamber rose higher and higher. Gun to the temple, deep breath-  
  
 _Click._  
  
“Ha, maybe I’m the lucky one today, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, keep on dreaming Stridork.”  
  
Vriska picked up the gun again, but looked at it a little longer, held it a little tighter. Dave had a sinking feeling in his gut, a sliver of doubt- fuck it, he wasn’t Harley, why would he know anything. All the same, when they kissed, it was the most tender one yet. No biting, no clashing of teeth, just the gentle slide of lips on lips. They separated but didn’t lean back, resting their foreheads together for a long moment. Then, almost as if embarrassed, Vriska jerked back. They stared at each other, fear of death making them soft, affectionate rather than cruel.   
  
She put the revolver to her head, slowly, and this time, she closed her eyes, eyelashes so long they brushed her cheeks. A small smile curved her lips and her slight shaking stopped, the look of a woman ready for death. Dave didn’t believe it. The bullet was probably in the next chamber, just waiting to dive into brilliant Strider brains. She didn’t need to act as if her luck was running out. Nevertheless, he held her other hand when she put it on the table in a rare display of warmth. She put her finger on the trigger, cobalt nails sharp and shiny, and pulled.  
 _  
Bang._


End file.
